Page 10 of The Final Contract

The kids never stopped—question after question, relentless as only children can be. How many people had Killian killed? Did he think unicorns were real? Had he ever been to prison?

For some reason, they weren’t buying it when he claimed to be an accountant.

That excuse made me roll my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain.

The man was about as much an accountant as I was a nun.

With those calloused hands, that scar running through his brow, and shoulders broad enough to block out the sun? Please. I know he has killed people—with nothing more than his bare hands. The image of him hunched behind a desk filing someone’s taxes was so absurd it was comical.

But then Oliver tilted his head and asked, “Are you and Killian boyfriend and girlfriend?”

I nearly choked on my iced tea. My cheeks burned hot as I stumbled over myself, blurting some incoherent denial.Meanwhile, Killian leaned back in his chair, stretching one arm across the back like he owned the space, casually wiping his trimmed dark beard with a napkin—probably to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth.

He was enjoying every second of my humiliation.

Thankfully, Stasia swooped in with a cheerful, “They’re just friends, honey.”

And with the way Killian cleared his throat, I wasn’t sure which one of us that answer burned more.

After dinner, Daniel took over the dishes and, to my surprise, Killian rolled up his sleeves and joined him at the sink. The sight of the Irish mountain washing plates beside my brother-in-law was enough to make me blink twice. Meanwhile, Stasia and I wrangled the kids into their playroom.

Which mostly meant Oliver painstakingly organized his army of figurines while Aurora presented me with every single toy she owned, demanding my opinion on which she should keep out for her birthday party.

Killian appeared in the doorway, knuckles rapping against the frame twice. “You ready?”

“Oh, now you’re ready?” I shoot back, standing with Aurora still clinging to my neck.

“Mm,” he hums, unbothered, as I carry her over. Her tiny frame looks even smaller when I shift her close to him. He’s not just tall—he’s solid. Every inch of him built from muscle and quiet menace. And there is not a single part of him that strikes me as small.

I shove the thought down before it can detonate.

Killian lifts a hand to my niece. “High five.”

Aurora grins and slaps his palm. “Next time you go kill someone, can I come?”

“Aurora Williams!” Stasia’s voice cuts sharp from down the hall.

Daniel, Killian, and I all burst out laughing.

“No, you may not join a murder,” Stasia calls, sweeping her daughter away toward the bath. Oliver trails after, calling over his shoulder, “So he is a killer, then?”

Their voices fade down the hall, leaving me and Killian to see ourselves out.

“Let’s go, big man.”

The drive home is silent but not empty. His sleek car hums beneath us, the leather cool against my skin. One of his hands rests steady on the wheel, the other shifting gears with effortless precision. And, for reasons I cannot explain, the movement looks sinfully sexy.

My mind drifts the entire way back—sliding into dangerous places I don’t let it linger often.

The first thought came to me when Killian tried and failed to discreetly adjust his jeans. I wondered if there would be enough room in the driver’s seat for me, if Killian were to pull this car over and pull his cock out for me to ride. Because with the hard-on he was trying to ignore, my earlier thoughts of nothing being small were absolutely correct.

I lean my head against the rest, closing my eyes as the dark road hums beneath the tires.

I push away that naughty image and instead picture that family. The backyard. The children’s laughter that cuts the night. And for the first time, I don’t see myself alone.

I see someone standing beside me. A particular Irish mountain, cut from iron and storm clouds, who smells of rugged sandalwood and pure stubbornness.

A dangerous image.